You Just Live
by moon-majik
Summary: The musketeers and D'Artagnan are sent to escort someone back to Paris. But just who is their charge, and what is her connection to the brooding Athos?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Just the first chapter of an idea I have been toying with since beginning to watch the series a few weeks ago. The plot has taken a beating as the show has developed and I now finally have the idea pinned down to a state I am happy with it. So I thought I would post the first chapter and see what happens. I'm quite looking forward to developing the characters and I'm sure as the series progresses my plot idea will take a few more knocks. Thanks for reading.

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"We should leave immediately." Porthos muttered to his friends. "It's a long enough journey back to Paris without the added inconvenience of the carriage and having to find suitable inns along the way each night. It might take us two weeks, and the weather looks to be getting worse."

"We can't leave until Madame finishes her morning preparations." Aramis smirked, leaning back in his chair, his feet resting on an empty stool. "The fire is warm and breakfast is still being served Porthos. Enjoy yourself for once. This is an easy assignment." He raised a mug of beer and smirked across the table at D'Artagnan, who grinned back. The small inn they had stayed in for the past few nights was pleasant enough; the fires were kept warm and the rooms clean. To their surprise, their elegant charge had not complained about the rustic charm of the place and had even dined with them in the common room the night before. Only Athos, their stoic leader, had been absent. A subdued and brooding Athos was nothing new to either of the musketeers and his absence had been noted but not commented on. His absence at breakfast was also nothing of note: the musketeer had been asleep when his friends had returned to their room, three empty bottles beside his bed. The man would probably be nursing a sore head as they set out on their travels that morning.

Two days ago the musketeers had met a storm battered trading ship at the port of Calais, under the cover of darkness. The captain had eagerly introduced them to his cargo, a young woman that the musketeers were tasked with escorting back to her family in Paris. Muttering about women on his ship, the captain had hurried off, leaving the girl alone with the musketeers, the freezing rain and wind whipping around them. The girl, who had been introduced to them as Madame de la Fere, had gone pale as she stared back at them.

"Please call me Ariene." She had murmured as Aramis stepped forward to great her. Athos had visibly flinched as his friend had spoken the lady's name and it was with concern that she had gazed at the man. He had not spoken to any of them since they had settled Ariene in her room late that first night.

"Should we rouse Athos?" Their newest recruit asked innocently as he cut some bread from the loaf the landlady had place in front of them. "We wouldn't want him to miss breakfast."

'He'll rouse himself when he wants to lad." Porthos growled, scowling at the breakfast table. "And we'll leave as soon as he does. I'd like to get back to Paris this side of Christmas."

"Athos is a little more…subdued than normal." D'Artagnan remarked. "Do you think something is wrong with him?"

"There's plenty wrong with him." Aramis remarked cheerfully. "Never told any of us what it is though. One day perhaps he will enlighten us, until then we will continue to make sure he gets home all right and doesn't choke on his own vomit. D'Artagnan, I'd be more concerned about Athos if he suddenly started spouting his feelings out in poetry."

"Yes, that's much more your style." Porthos teased his friend, causing D'Artagnan to chuckle."

"Why are you all sitting around at this hour?" A barked complaint announced the arrival of their friend, dressed in his cloak already with his hat pulled down around his face. "We should be ready to leave. Pack up your belongings and get the horses ready. D'Artagnan, fetch our passenger."

"Good morning to you too Athos." Aramis grinned cheerfully as Athos tore bread from the loaf and turned to glare at his cheerful friends. "I trust you slept well."

"Not as well as you apparently. Come on. It's a long ride back to Paris with a carriage."

"I told you." Porthos nudged Aramis as the three companions stood, D'Artagnan to hurry their lady companion and the others to arrange their travel.

The horses were saddled and the bags packed a long while before D'Artagnan reappeared, this time with Madame de la Fere on his arm. The lady wore her red hair in a braid down her back, the rest of her body hidden under a thick cloak. Her skin was pale in the cold weather and she greeted her guards with a small smile.

"Good morning Madame de la… er.. Ariene." Aramis addressed her uncomfortably as she raised an eyebrow. "Please allow me to assist you into the carriage, and we will be on our way shortly."

"Will our journey not take three times as long if I am to travel in a carriage?" She asked as she regarded the ornate contraption the musketeers had rented. "I would prefer to ride. It will be quicker, and less conspicuous."

"A woman riding alone with four men will be more conspicuous than four men guarding a carriage." Porthos pointed out and she nodded.

"But five men riding together is the most inconspicuous you can get." She pulled off her cloak and revealed that she had dressed herself in gear similar to that which the musketeers themselves were wearing. The men gaped at her in confusion, unsure where to look and how to react. Ariene wore trousers, cut for men that were tight around her hips and showed off rather a lot more of her shape than the musketeers were used to seeing in a clothed women. The coat she wore, while similar in design to the one Athos wore every day, was tight around her chest in ways it could never be around his. She pulled a hat from under the cloak and tucked her hair up into it. While the disguise would not bear any scrutiny as the fine lines of her face did not resemble any man they knew, and the curves of her body betrayed her immediately, the clothes would allow her to ride a horse without any questions being raised.

Secrecy was a major part of their mission. Treville had imparted on them the importance that as few people knew of their charge's arrival back into Paris as possible. One by one, Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan turned to Athos, seeking his approval for the ladies plan. Athos, who had not taken any notice of the arrival of D'Artagnan with Ariene, was now staring at the woman, his lips slightly apart. It was obvious to those who knew him best that there was a war going on behind his eyes as the man struggled to find words. After a few long moments, Athos gave a curt nod and then turned back to his own preparations. Not long after that, the five were mounted and on their way, the carriage left behind in Paris.

D'Artagnan rode close to Ariene for the first leg of their journey, intrigued by the idea of this woman dressed as a man and pretending to be a man. The low voices of the two chattering together calmed the mood and soon Porthos and Aramis joined in, the conversation turning to the past. Only Athos rode ahead, silent and focused on the road.

"My Uncle wishes that I return to Paris." Ariene was answering D'Artagnan's query. The young man had asked her why she was travelling in the middle of winter. "I believe it is for political reasons, although I am sure the same reasons could have waited for spring in the mind of anyone else. My Uncle is very used to getting his own way."

"Who is your Uncle?"

"I believe you know him." Her eyes sparkled. "His name is Louis." The small party stopped suddenly as Aramis and Porthos pulled up their mounts and stared at her.

"You are the King's Niece? And we are letting you ride around dressed as a man? We're going to get hanged for this." Aramis looked worried. "Did you know about this?" He demanded, raising his voice to reach Athos, who hadn't stopped at the revelation. The man didn't answer and Aramis spurred his horse on to catch up with their friend.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reviewing and following my story! Your support means a lot and I hope that you like this chapter. I have tried to use it to show a little bit more of my own character's background without giving too much away about her place in the musketeer's story. I was worried when I was writing this that my perception of Athos was too moody, however last night I managed to watch the latest episode and I realised I had not made him brooding enough! That man can scowl! Anyone, I hope you enjoy this and I promise there will be some excitement in the next instalment, now I am essentially finished setting the scene. Thanks in advance for reading.

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The carriage would have had one advantage, she reflected during a quieter moment on their journey to the capitol city of France. The roof would have sheltered her from the icy cold winds that blew in from the north and the flurries of snow brought along with them. But it would have also been incredibly boring, she told herself as she pulled her cloak tighter around her, the hours would have been much longer and she would have had far too much time to herself. Time to herself was something she tried to avoid as much as she could, and she had had enough of it on the ship during the crossing. Mild seasickness had confined her to her small cabin, and her only company had been the ship's cabin boy, who had been sent down with her meals twice a day. She shuddered slightly at the memory of the journey and the movement attracted the concerned gaze of the most charming of her four protectors: Aramis. A quick smile to reassure him was all it took to keep his attention from her, the man turning back to his quiet conversation with Porthos as they walked their horses across the frozen ground. She watched the two men for a moment, enjoying being able to observe their close but easy friendship.

Her eyes lingered for a moment and then slipped past them to their leader, who rode several paces ahead in complete silence. He hadn't spoken a word to anyone for the whole journey, barely acknowledging the presence of his three friends, never mind her. Seeing Athos standing at the end of the gangway had been enough to send her shrinking back into the relative safety of her tiny cabin, and she had stood with her back to the door, her eyes closed and breathing as deeply as she could to stave off the sheer panic his presence had caused. The command to return to France had been unwelcome, shattering the more peaceful existence she had built up in Scotland, living first at the court of the English Queen Anne, then hidden away with the wife of a prominent nobleman and then finally as a lady in waiting for her younger aunt, Henrietta Marie, who had arrived in England not even a year ago. It had taken all of her courage to step onto the ship as it left Plymouth harbour, and even more of her strength to leave it. The captain had had to send the boy to retrieve her and she had had to clench her fists at her side to stop from shaking as she looked down at the four men her uncle had sent to protect her.

Four musketeers, she mused as their rear guard, D'Artagnan pulled his horse level with hers. Four of the King's fighting elite. It had seemed rather excessive, but only a few hours into their journey she had found that she appreciated their company and she was glad of the presence of Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan.

"How long were you in England for?" D'Artagnan was the least respectful of her guards; Aramis and Porthos had at least addressed her as Madame when they had spoken to her. His bluntness was a little refreshing and amused her slightly, and at least a conversation with the youngest musketeer would keep her mind from its ramblings and her eyes from the brooding musketeer in the front.

"A little over five years." She smiled but D'Artagnan could see little joy in her smile. "I was sent to serve in the court of Queen Anne, but she died a month after I arrived. King James sent me to the household of George Calvert, who was, I believe, an ambassador to Paris during my Uncle's coronation. King James believed that Monsieur Calvert and his wife would tame my wild, catholic ways." She laughed.

"Did it?" D'Artagnan curiosity was obviously piqued and he tilted his head towards her.

"Madame Calvert was very kind to me, and Monsieur Calvert was often away. When he was home, we engaged in rather lively discussions upon the subject. I do admit when I arrived in England there was little room in my heart for God and religion. If King James thought I was wild and untamed he was sorely mistaken."

"So they did convert you from Catholicism?"

"When Madame Calvert, god rest her soul, died three years ago, Monsieur Calvert resigned from his positions of political power and announced his conversion to Catholicism." D'Artagnan laughed loudly at her admission and Porthos and Aramis paused, turning in their saddles to look back at their friend. As Ariene and D'Artagnan caught their companions up, they struck up a lively discussion regarding the ins and outs of their chosen religion. It was only then, in an open discussion with Aramis about the downfalls of the Protestant faith did she realise that she was back in a Catholic country and could express her religious beliefs without fear of retribution. Her young Aunt, Henrietta Marie had arrived in England only six months ago and had faced immediate suspicion on the grounds of her religion. The church had refused to crown her Queen of England until she converted, and so far her aunt was staunchly refusing to do so. Ariene knew Henrietta faced a difficult time with the English nobility, as suspicion of those worshiping the Catholic faith was still high, even ten years after the failed plot to blow up King Charles.

It only seemed like a small while later that Athos turned his horse off the road and led the other four to a small clearing in the low shrubbery that had been lining the road. Following him, Aramis cheerily translated the change in direction to Ariene.

"This means it is now time to eat. I'm glad, the sun getting low in the sky and any normal gentleman would be about ready for an evening meal."

"Once again Aramis, you practice your talent for exaggeration. It is not yet past four in the afternoon." Porthos dismounted as they reached a place the horses could graze happily while the travelers settled their stomachs. As Ariene shakily dismounted, she realised just how hungry she was. Stepping away from her horse was hard, a full morning of riding in the cold had left her with sore muscles, and parts of her body she had not realised could stiffen hurt as she walked. Grimacing, she found herself once more thinking about the comforts a carriage would have provided. Gritting her teeth, she pulled her hat from her head and allowed her braid to unravel, combing her hands through her auburn waves. Porthos passed out food from his pack, bread, cheese and a small amount of cold meat.

"We should be able to get our evening meals at the inns we find lodgings at each night," he told Ariene by way of apology for her meager meal as she eagerly took it from him. "I know it's not much, but its travel rations."

"Thank you Porthos." She tore a small bit of bread from her chunk, trying her hardest to conceal her disappointment that their meal was not a little more substantial. She had not eaten during the ocean crossing and she was still feeling the effects of the seasickness. The musketeers ate in silence, and as she slowly consumed the meal in her hands her thoughts drifted back to the events of the last few days.

When it had become clear that Athos was not going to formally acknowledge her introduction from the captain, Aramis had stepped forward to break the awkward silence. He had introduced the four musketeers to her and she had smiled, somewhat distractedly, and said all the right responses to their introductions. They had taken her to the inn they had installed themselves in to wait for her arrival, and left her in her room for the rest of the night. She had cried herself to sleep; plagued with memories she had hoped she would not have had to face for a few more days.

The next morning had been a test of her strength, a test she had almost failed. She remained in her room for the morning, hiding under the blankets. A knock on the door after lunch had been served in the common room downstairs roused her, D'Artagnan had been sent up to ensure she was alright. After a talk with the young man, she confirmed to her relief that Athos was indeed not with the rest of the musketeers, she gathered up her courage to join them for lunch.

She was pulled from her brooding by Aramis handing her a couple of apple from his pack.

"One for you and one for your horse." He winked at her. "And you had best prepare yourself for another long ride. The horses will have had sufficient rest and Athos will want us to be on our way. We won't be at the inn until after dark as it is." A movement caught Ariene's eye: Athos had looked over as he heard his name. He had spent their short lunch break sitting apart from the others, his hat still pulled down over his face. Aramis followed her eyes and realised she was regarding their sullen friend. "Don't mind Athos. He prefers his own company most of the time. I'm sure he likes you just as much as the rest of us do." Ariene managed a shaky smile as Aramis offered her his arm to help her stand. Her muscles protesting at the movement, she thanked him for his help and together they turned to coax their horse back into service.

After a laughter-filled half an hour of trying to catch D'Artagnan's mischief filled mare, with the young man insisting that his horse was not usually as bad mannered and Aramis and Porthos both insisting the opposite was true, they were ready to leave. One by one, the musketeers swung themselves up into their saddles and Ariene, marveling at how her mood could change so easily, stared up at her mount with a little trepidation.

"Can you manage alright?" The quiet voice behind her made her whirl round, and she found herself face to face with Athos, the man who had determinedly avoided her for the past few days. In her shock, she opened her mouth to reply, but found her voice had deserted her, leaving her gaping up at him. Embarrassed, distressed and unable to do anything else, she turned away from him and swung herself into the saddle of the horse, leaning forward to pat the animal and to avoid looking at Athos. When she finally got up the courage to look back down at where he had been standing, he was gone, taking his place a few yards in front of the group.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you again for following, favouriting and reviewing for me! You do inspire me to keep writing. Things are getting a little bit more interesting for our favourite musketeers now. I've written most of this on just two hours sleep as I was at work all night last night. It's strange the times when inspiration hits: I had just finished wandering around a tunnel full of sharks when I realised exactly how I wanted to end this chapter. (Maybe I will be able to get a shark into a story one of these days). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and please forgive grammar and spelling mistakes, I have checked and double checked it but like I said: two hours sleep. Please let me know what you think of it!

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They rode for most of the afternoon in a silence broken by the odd conversation here and there. They talked of simple things, Ariene asking for news of Paris during her absence. The letters from her aunts talked only of the latest gossip and fashion: they had liked to ensure that her dress followed the correct French fashion rules despite her absence at their court, and her Father had not seemed to consider her worthy of discussing politics and current affairs with. His letters were short and assured her only of his health and asked after hers. Aramis was more than obliging in answering all of her questions of the goings on of Paris in the past five years, even if she did notice that most of his awareness of the major players in French politics was through their wives.

"You do seem to have made the acquaintance of a lot of the ladies of the court Aramis." Her comment drew a snort of laughter from Porthos, who jolted his horse into speeding up a little so he could draw level with his friend.

"Interesting word, acquaintance." He teased. "What does it mean again, Aramis?" The dark haired man retorted with a phrase not generally considered fit to be repeated in front of a lady, which caused Athos to turn his head back and glower at his two friends and D'Artagnan, who had been riding next to Ariene, to look scandalized. There was a short silence, as Aramis considered the phrasing for his flowery apology, until Ariene let out a rather unfeminine grunt of laughter. Porthos joined in and soon, the four of them were giggling away as they walked their horses down the road, Athos doing his best to remain sternly disproving at the front of the group.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a loud cry and dark shapes jumped out of the shadows cast by the setting sun. The musketeer's horses, used to such events, merely sidestepped and allowed their riders to command them to respond to the new danger. Ariene's horse, used as she was to pulling a slow rolling carriage around the sedentary streets of Calais, reared in panic as the men jumped out of the bushes. Ariene lost her grip on the mare's reigns and fell heavily to the floor with a cry.

At the first sign of trouble, Athos had drawn his sword and tightened his grip on his horse. His mount responded to his touch, wheeling around to charge back to the small group who had been a few strides behind him. Aramis and Porthos had already dismounted and were engaged with four of their attackers, the clash of metal on metal as their swords, and the angered cries of his friends mingling in the background. A scream turned his head as their charge's horse reared, throwing her to the ground and bolting. Athos realised with a jolt that, despite her musketeer attire, Ariene was unarmed and vulnerable and their attackers numbered many. One had already noticed her on the ground and seized the opportunity, running towards her with a sword raised. Athos spurred his mount forward, lifting his sword to knock the man out of the way. Another scream left Ariene's mouth as Athos' sword sliced through her attacker, blood splattering her face. Athos' drew his pistol and shouted down to her.

"Run. Ariene, run!" When she failed to move he shouted for his friend. "D'Artagnan! Get her away." He did not stay to ensure she was safe, trusting the young Gasgon to carry out his orders without question. Athos' jumped from his horse and threw himself into the ongoing battle, fighting side by side with Porthos and Aramis. He felt the hot sting of metal slicing into his flesh as the sword of one of the attackers caught the side of his arm. Athos swore and retaliated, loosing himself to the familiar feel of the adrenaline rushing through his blood.

The battle was short but ferocious and all three of the musketeers supported cuts and bruises by the time they had won. Out of breath, Aramis leant against the tree and coughed, his blade still in his hand. He surveyed the carnage around them.

"Well, so much for a quiet easy assignment." He raised an eyebrow at Porthos who smirked.

"I'm starting to believe there is no such thing." He bent to roll over one of their attackers. "Rather of lot of them for a highway robbery, do you not think? And rather brave of them to attack musketeers on the road. Think there's something else going on?"

"When is there not." Aramis muttered. "Athos, are you alright? That might need stitches." The man in question looked down at his arm, dark with his own blood and shrugged.

"'M fine." He muttered, preoccupied with searching through the bodies, looking for any clue as to their purpose. Porthos was right, the situation was odd. While they were travelling on one of the busiest roads in France, the time of year was wrong for travellers and they had not come across any others during their first day on the road. Traditionally, the winter months were not high risk for robbery on the road. And for a group of bandits to attack a group of heavily armed musketeers… something did not quite add up.

"There's nothing out of the ordinary on any of these bodies." Porthos muttered. "They just don't look as if they have been living the lives of highwaymen." Each of the corpses were well dressed and the men looked well fed, their cheeks lacking the usual gaunt look the musketeers were used to seeing in such men.

"Hmm." Athos grumbled, his almost permanent frown back on his face. As the adrenaline from the fight wore off his arm was started to throb.

"Where's D'Artagnan?" Aramis glanced around for their apprentice musketeer.

"He took Ariene to safety." Athos' words were tight. "We should find the horses and make for the inn. We don't know how many there were, they could have been followed. We'll report the attack when we reach the town."

They couldn't reach the town fast enough to satisfy his worry and Athos had set a punishing pace once they had found the horses waiting patiently a little further down the road. Ariene's spooked mount was nowhere to be found and Athos had not wanted to waste precious time in finding her. She would, with a little luck, have turned her head towards home, and would be in back in her own stable within the next few days. Chasing after a wayward horse was not high on his list of things to worry about. Chasing their wayward recruit and the girl they were meant to be protecting was. Aramis and Porthos followed Athos as they urged their horses forward, keeping an eye out for any signs of trouble along the road.

"Athos!" A shout from Aramis halted the small group almost instantly. They dismounted together and Aramis led the way to what had caught his eye, the other two racing after him. On the ground some few metres away from the edge of the road was two bodies could be seen lying half in a bush, and only a slight distance away from the outstretched hand of one of the bodies, lay an extremely familiar pistol.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos had seen the pistol at the same time as Aramis and the two reached the bodies at the same time. Turning the closest one over, he couldn't help but let out a soft cry of relief as he gazed into the unfamiliar face of one of the highwaymen, his eyes open in fear of death. Aramis uncovered the face of the second, confirming that neither of their companions were present. Athos, a mere breath away from punching one of the trees in a mixture of relief, frustration and worry, bent down to retrieve the pistol they had all recognised as their friends.

"This has been fired recently." He commented in what would have been considered a nonchalant way to anyone that did not know him, but Porthos and Aramis picked up on the tightness of his voice and the hard look in his eyes.

"Neither of these men have gunshot wounds." Aramis glanced over them briefly. "How did they get D'Artagnan's pistol." He turned worried eyes to Porthos, who shrugged, his own eyes on Athos who was poking around the rest of the area. There were obvious signs of a fight, broken branches in bushes and a fair amount of blood marking the grass.

"Aramis." Athos called his medically trained friend to his side as he stared down at something in the grass. Aramis, alert to the odd, strained tone of Atho's voice, hurried over, Porthos not far behind. The three musketeers stood staring in barely concealed dismay at the large pool of blood that Athos had stumbled upon. Lying on the ground half covered in the dark, sticky liquid was a coat that each of the recognised. The coat that Ariene had stolen from the inn earlier that day and had been wearing as a defense against the cold all day. "That's a lot of blood Aramis." The closest thing they had to a field doctor nodded, his face grave. As the last light of the setting sun illuminated his face, he touched a hand to Athos' arm and spoke words that sent a chill down his companion's spines.

"Too much blood. Who ever lost that much blood just lying here… I don't like their chances."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter focuses on what happened to D'Artagnan and Ariene as they follow Athos' orders are ride away from the fight. Originally, I just had them escaping and meeting up with Athos, Aramis and Porthos at their inn destination, but it didn't really work when I tried to write it down. Hence the birth of chapters three and four. Today I spent five hours with a couple of my friends who haven't seen the Musketeer's catching them up and drinking rather a lot of wine in preparation for the 6th episode tonight. It was great fun and after it finished I just had to keep writing. Enjoy.

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_"D'Artagnan! Get her away!"_

The shout had come from Athos and D'Artagnan was used to obeying Athos without question. It was only a direct order from the man he most respected that could have made him turn his back on the fight his three friends faced. As he reached down to offer his hand to Ariene, the bandits kept appearing, jumping down from the embankments with their swords drawn and ready for their attack. D'Artagnan cast a look back towards Athos, his three friends already surrounded but holding their own. He felt a surge of annoyance that he had been commanded to flee from the battle and for only a second considered disobeying Athos and turning to help his friends. A glance down at Ariene, who had yet to move, changed his mind. He recognised the shock that paled her face and knew that he had to do as commanded or they would fail their mission. The girl who had seemed so strong and cheerful on the road would have been killed in an instant if her turned and abandoned her.

"Ariene!" He called down to her, leaning further forward and thrusting his hand towards her. "Take my hand." She turned a blank, blood stained face towards him, her hat askew and her red hair tumbling from its constraints and he realised she was shaking. "Come on! Now!" To his relief, his final shout seemed to rouse her and she reached up a hand to him, clasping his forearm. She was no weight at all as he lifted her into the saddle before him, reaching around her to grip the reigns and urge his horse on.

The sounds of the battle behind him took a long time to fade, and with each stride of the horse D'Artagnan's guilt for leaving his friends behind grew. The only thing that kept him pointing his horse's head forward was the shaking girl between his arms. Athos had ordered him to get her away from the fight, and D'Artagnan would keep her safe if it was the last thing he ever did. He knew that the inn they were heading for was not far from where they had been and he reasoned that a public place would be safe enough. He knew that there was a possibility that they had been followed and as he pushed his mount onwards he listened carefully and watched for any signs of their attackers creeping after them.

He was so focused on the road behind them that he failed to pay attention to the road ahead and to the countryside around them.

The attack, when it came, was from the side.

They had only been riding for a mile or so when something, D'Artagnan did not see what, barreled into his horse from the side. The animal screamed, unable to keep it's footing with the extra weight and fell heavily on to its side. D'Artagnan was thrown from the saddle but Ariene went down with the horse. As the heavy animal fell, it landed on top of her and she screamed in pain as her left leg and hip were crushed to the ground beneath it. The horse scrambled up as soon as it was able, it's sharp hooves kicking out as it fought for its footing. D'Artagnan received a heavy kick to his groin as he tried to help Ariene out from under the horse, doubling over in pain as the girl struggled free. He grunted, falling to his knees as their attackers circled around. There were only three of them; he registered as he staggered back to his feet as quickly as he could, his arm flung out in an attempt to protect the girl on the floor behind him. He drew his sword as she shakily climbed to her feet, clinging to his back. His attackers circled him, grinning.

"Give me a sword D'Artagnan." Ariene's voice was low in his ear as she clutched at him, her quiet tone hiding the pain she must have felt from their harsh landing. The young man did not answer as he stepped forward to parry the attack of one of the men surrounding them. He had not registered her plea and it came as a shock to him as he felt the short sword he wore at his waist as a back up weapon pulled from its sheath and saw his charge stepping forward to meet the thrust of the second man. He wasted a precious second staring at her in shock, which was all the third attacker needed to knock his sword from his hand.

"D'Artagnan!" The shock was evident in Ariene's voice as the clash of metal on metal filled the clearing, the two men bearing down upon her. D'Artagnan, finding his sword gone from his hand and his back up otherwise engaged, reached for his pistol, ducking under the deathblow his assailant aimed at his head. Coming up from his roll with his pistol aimed, he fired, and the loud explosion echoed throughout the forest. The smoke cleared and miraculously, both men were still standing. In horror, D'Artagnan realised that his shot had gone wide, the ball embedding itself in a tree some metres away. To his left he heard Ariene scream in reaction to the shot, saw her raise her sword to fend off an attack and then saw, out of the corner of his eye, his own attacker raise a pistol. His weapon falling from his hand, he launched himself sideways as another gunshot rang through the woods. Pain blossomed through him as he fell, beginning in his bicep and radiating out towards his heart. He gasped as he struggled to sit, vaguely aware of Ariene calling his name.

"D'Artagnan!" She found herself crying out for the second time in only a few minutes. The first had been in warning, the second in desperation as she had seen the young man fall as the gun had been fired. The momentary distraction had given her opponents the upper hand, but the fear she had felt as her new friend collapsed gave her a new strength. She found her arms acting of their own accord as she desperately fought back the assailant's efforts, beating both of them back at once. Her blade entered the chest of the first almost by accident, as she swung round from the attack of the second. He had looked faintly surprised as he died, still with her sword through his heart. With a harsh cry, she had pulled the sword from his body and turned, facing the second with narrowed eyes. He had picked D'Artagnan's pistol from the ground and was holding it towards her, a grin on his face as he assumed his victory. Out of the corner of his eye she saw the man who had shot D'Artagnan clambering out of the valley, running for his life or running to report the news of their slaughter to whoever had ordered it. The man standing before her widened his smile as he stepped forward, the pistol pointing at her heart. On the ground, D'Artagnan groaned and claimed her attention as he struggled to sit up.

"Ariene, run" There was little time to react as the highwayman pulled the trigger of the pistol. A silence hung in the air as nothing happened, and his grin faded as he contemplated the failure of the borrowed weapon. With a determined grunt, Ariene drove D'Artagnan's short sword through the stomach of the man who had just tried to kill her. He staggered, and fell towards her. She caught him as they both fell to he floor and he died as she struggled out from underneath him, unable to stop the scream that came from her own mouth. The pistol he had relied upon fell from his hands to lie a few feet away from his final resting place, a detail Ariene was blind too as she crawled to D'Artagnan's side.

"Where did you learn to fight?" The musketeer gasped from where he had pulled himself up against a tree. Her hands on his shoulders pushed him back and she shook her head.

"Never mind that right now. Where are you hurt?"

"My arm." D'Artagnan closed his eyes as he directed her attention to his injury and she knelt at his side. "I'm fine."

"I think we have different meanings of the word fine." She grinned at him, her face pale and her clothes covered in the blood of their attackers. "But you will live." He glanced up at her, taking note of the strain in her eyes.

"Your not a very good liar." He accused as he leaned his head back against the tree.

"No, I never was." She pursed her lips as she examined his injury. The immediately obvious wound was an entry hole, a small round wound in his left bicep. The wound itself was neat and only a few centimeters in diameter but the blood flow coming from it was no trivial matter. The ground underneath the young man was soaked in the thick, dark red liquid and Ariene feared what she would see when she moved his arm. The bullet had exited his arm in a mess of muscle, skin and blood and the ragged hole visible as she lifted his arm gently showed her the seriousness of his injury. "Lean forward D'Artagnan." She murmured gently, pulling the boy into the position she needed him in. He moaned as her fingers touched the ragged edges. The bullet had missed the bone, but she was only aware of that because the bone was clearly visible; a bright white amongst the red pumping from his body. Lying across the bone was a severed artery, blood streaming from the ragged edge with each pump of his heart. Ariene felt the panic well up in her, her stomach clenching with the enormity of the situation and her mind blank as she wasted precious seconds staring at the remains of his arm. She closed her eyes, lost to the past as the face of another man swam before her eyes, lying in her arms and dying from a similar injury.

"Is it that bad?" D'Artagnan's voice jolted her back and she reached out to stroke his cheek with her hand.

"Like you said." She forced a smile. "You'll be fine." She pulled her coat off and draped it over him, a desperate attempt to keep him warm as he began to drift off into shock. Desperately, she pulled at her tunic, her blood soaked fingers clutching at the threads in the stitching. "D'Artagnan?"

"Mm?" The young man's moan was full of pain.

"This is going to hurt."

"Wha – Ahhhhh!" D'Artagnan screamed as he the feeling of his arm being ripped apart came over him.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I need to stop the bleeding." She worked quickly, her fingers pinching together the blood vessel while her other hand tightly wound the thread around it. The last time she had faced such a wound she had been all but useless, begging the young man not to die, pleading with him to live. She felt just as hopeless as she worked, but she was determined that the same thing would not happen again. All of her thoughts were tuned to one thing: stopping the bleeding. Before being sent to England, the estate she had lived on had had many farms providing food for the surrounding villages. She had ridden out one day with her husband to visit such a farm, and watched in thinly veiled distress as the farmers tried their hardest to save a cow that had fallen into a ditch after a storm and impaled itself on a broken fence post. The farmer had explained to her how he had successfully stitched the ripped arteries together in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but the stress of the damage had been too much for the cow to take, and she had died the next day. With her face pale, Ariene prayed to every god she knew that a man's heart was stronger than that of the cow, and that D'Artagnan would survive his injury.

Tearing material from her shirt, she began to pack it into the wound, the white material quickly becoming stained red. Using her belt as a bandage, she tightly bound her makeshift treatment in place, ignoring the moans of pain coming from D'Artagnan. Looking down into his pale face, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open with the pain she floundered. Moving him would undoubtedly worsen the wound, but she knew she couldn't trust that the others would find them, that they would even be able to catch up with them in the time that was left to D'Artagnan. The fleeting fear that Athos had failed to defeat their attackers and that she had been left alone in the world paralyzed her for a moment, but it was in that moment that D'Artagnan lost consciousness. He slumped against her, stirring her into action he his head dropped onto her shoulder.

"D'Artagnan! Stay awake. D'Artagnan! D'Artagnan!" Her shouts were punctuated by shakes as she shook the man by his shoulders as carefully as she dared, drawing him from the depths of his mind. "Get up D'Artagnan." She pushed at him, ignoring his groans and eventually the man let her pull him to his feet, her coat sliding off him, forgotten in her single minded determinedness to keep D'Artagnan alive. To not be alone.

With the young musketeer recruit leaning heavily against her, blood trickling from the wound in his arm, she began to make her way along the road they had been following, determined to reach the village they had planned to stop at and get help for her dying friend.

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A/N: I do apologise for not actually clearing up what happens to D'Artagnan, and I also apologise for being mean to D'Artagnan. It will all be sorted out by the end of the next chapter, I promise. And then the Musketeer's and Ariene can concentrate on revenge. Please leave me a message and let me know how you think the story is going! It is such great inspiration for the next few chapters!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I know some of you want to know what's happened to D'Artagnan, so I'm trying to get the chapters written and up but I've just started a 10 day shift at work so as I get more tired then the updates might slow a little. Sleep is good for my sanity, and also the sanity of the characters! I've had fun writing the boy's reactions to the situation and I hope they even vaguely reflect how you think that they would react. I'm more or less happy with how this is going but I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know what you think!

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Grim faced and dreading what they would find, Athos, Porthos and Aramis had turned their horses towards the inn. None of them spoke a word to each other as they saw the flickering lights in the windows on the horizon, urging their mounts to ride faster in their desire to reach their destination. There was an unusual level of activity around the grounds of the inn, and Athos held out his hand to stop the other two a few hundred meters from the door. As one, the friends dismounted and drew their swords.

"What do you want?" The man who confronted them as they approached was not the innkeeper. He wore the uniform of the constabulary; a rag tag organization of policemen who were charged with keeping the peace in the small towns that littered France's countryside. This specific man was well dressed, with a round waist and a glint in his eye that suggested he profited from his business of policing, while the villagers around him struggled for food to feed their families. "Drop your weapons or I will arrest you!" His tone was one of self-importance and smugness. A sword hung at his ample waist, but all three musketeers would have been willing to bet he had never use it, and he held a pistol in his hand. Impatiently, Athos did not do as they had been asked, instead stepping forward and raising his sword further.

"My name is Athos. I am with the King's Musketeers."

"That was quick." The Constable lowered the gun and gestured to them. "You'll remember to remind the Cardinal that it was Constable Lebouche that apprehended the murderer, won't you!" He suddenly was ushering Athos inside and the musketeer sent a bewildered glance back at Aramis and Porthos, who both looked back at him with worried and confused expressions as they followed him.

"We are searching for two friends of ours." Athos spoke rapidly as the constable took him by the shoulder and led him into the inn. "A young man and a young woman, well, a young woman dressed as a young man. We believe they are hurt, possibly badly. Have you seen them?"

"Well, that sounds like the girl you have come to arrest?" The constable frowned at him and Athos gaped back at him, his mind working over time as he tried to discern the policeman's meaning. Before he could question the constable, the man gestured flamboyantly as they turned a corner and Athos heard Porthos swear out loud.

Collapsed on a chair, her hands pulled behind her back and bound to the wooden posts of the furniture was Ariene. Her clothes, skin and hair were covered in dark red blood and her whole body was shaking, either with cold or with shock. Her eyes were dark as she lifted her head to take in the three musketeers' arrival, her head rolling back to rest against the backboard of the chair. Her mouth moved slightly as she tried to speak to them but before she could form the words the constable backhanded her across her face. Her head snapped back from the force of his blow and her eyes unfocused from a second. There was a shocked silence from all three of the musketeers before Athos charged forward, seizing the constable by his jacket and forcing him back into the wall.

Aramis slipped past Athos' rage and hurried to Ariene, pulling out his own knife to cut her bonds and check her for injuries.

"How dare you!" Athos was so angry he could barely force out words as he held his sword at the constable's throat. Porthos, his jaw clenched and his face grim, stepped forward and lifted his sword, joining in Athos's rage. Athos' hands shook with rage as he almost lifted the large man from his feet. "I ought to kill you where you stand! What right do you have to –"

"She's been arrested for murder." The constable wheezed through the pressure of Athos on his chest, his eyes darting about the room looking for a way out of his predicament.

"What do you mean, arrested for murder?" Porthos questioned him while Athos shook him, pressing his blade closer to the man's stubbled chin.

"She arrived here not long ago, dragging the body of a young man, begging for help. The innkeeper called me in and as soon as I arrived I knew what had happened. She's killed her lover and then in a moment of remorse tried to blame it on some highwaymen. Everyone knows that highwaymen do not attack in the middle of winter." Athos stared at the constable for a long moment before slowly lowering his sword from the man's neck and releasing his jacket. The constable looked a little relieved but Porthos merely smirked. Before the large musketeer could say anything, Athos had reacted: he punched the constable, his fist connecting squarely with the man's nose. The appendage made a satisfying crack but the knowledge that he had just broken it did not make Athos feel any better. Porthos pulled him away as he began to swing his hand to punch again, wrapping his arms around the smaller man as both swords clattered to the ground.

"As much as I'll be helping you beat him to a pulp when this is resolved, right now it is not helping Athos." He growled, barely hiding his own suppressed rage at the situation. "We need to find D'Artagnan."

"He said…" Athos suddenly paled as he grasped the enormity of the situation, wheeling around to face Porthos. "She… murder…D'Artagnan!" Turning back from Porthos he once again grabbed the man by his jacket, hauling him up and shaking him. "Where is the man she brought here? Where is he?"

"Upstairs. Fifth door." The quietly but emotionally charged words hadn't come from the constable but from the girl with Aramis. As Aramis pulled the ropes from her wrists she clutched his arm. "I tried..."

"Aramis!" Athos barked but the musketeer was already on his feet.

"Porthos, do not leave her alone." He commanded their friend, who took his place at Ariene's side and the blood stained girl clung to his arm. Aramis was already running up the stairs. Athos hesitated, looking down at the constable who still cowered against the wall under the musketeer's grip. Gritting his teeth and tilting his head, he raised his fist again, using a well-aimed punch to knock the man out. The portly policeman slid down the wall, his eyes rolling back into his head as he landed heavily.

"I'll deal with you later." Athos growled as he picked up his sword, and turned to follow Aramis up the stairs, his heart pounding in his mouth as panic over D'Artagnan threatened to over come him. Guilt pooled in his stomach as he realised it had been his order that had sent the young man into danger. He heard the crash of a door being broken down and Aramis' voice shouting over the noise.

"D'Artagnan!" Stepping into the room after Aramis, Athos paused at the sight in front of him, reeling in horror. A man, a doctor by the look of his attire, leant over their friend, needle and thread in his hand as he stitched a section of D'Artagnan's arm, near the boys shoulder. D'Artagnan lay still, his eyes closed and his skin a deathly pale. His shirt had been half torn from him, and the parts of his chest Athos could see were smeared with vivid red blood. The doctor looked up in surprise as the two men burst into the room, Aramis immediately striding over to the boys side.

"What is his injury?" The field surgeon demanded.

"Who are you?" The doctor demanded. "Constable Lebouche said not to –" Athos growled as the doctor mentioned the constable and Aramis shook his head.

"I wouldn't mention his name if I were you. Bit of a touchy subject."

"We are of the King's Musketeers." Athos' voice was tight as he menacingly approached D'Artagnan's bed. "Answer the question."

"Athos?" The name was little more than a whisper from the bed, but it had Athos and Aramis abandoning their questioning of the doctor and falling to their knees at their friends bedside.

"D'Artagnan." Athos leaned forward. "You're alright lad. You've been injured a little, by the looks of it." He glanced at the neat wound, which had been relatively neatly stitched, with obvious relief. He had expected something a lot worse than the small wound.

"Shot." D'Artagnan muttered, before his eyes flickered closed again and they lost him to unconsciousness.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos tried to call him back but Aramis reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

"Let him rest, Athos. That will be the best thing for him." Aramis turned once more to the doctor. "What has happened here?" The man shrugged.

"The innkeeper sent his boy to rouse me. Said I was needed. When I arrived he was already in here, with a young lady. T'was not long after that that the constable arrived and arrested the girl for murder." The doctor shook his head. "If she was trying to kill this lad, she did a good job."

"That wound hardly looks life threatening." Athos commented but Aramis, who had been inspecting the stitches, paled as he carefully moved D'Artagnan's arm.

"That's just the entry wound Athos." He beckoned his friend over to show him the jigsw puzzle of a wound that the bullet's exit had caused. There was a moment of silence, broken suddenly by a crunching noise as Athos drove his fist into the wall of the room.

"Feel better?" Aramis glared at the angry man. Athos shook his head. "Breaking your own hand is not going to help D'Artagnan." Aramis turned to the doctor. "How much blood did he lose?"

"A fair amount." The doctor admitted. "The bullet seems to have missed his bone, which means that he should regain the full use of his arm, but it did sever a large artery. Someone tied the end of the artery before he arrived here. That probably saved his life. I've stitched it together the best I can. If he survives the night, and avoids infection, then he will live." The sound of the door opening distracted the musketeer's and Athos and Aramis drew their swords as they turned to face the intruder. Porthos stood before them, his hands raised and his face serious. Behind him, his large coat around her shoulders making her seem smaller than she ever had before, stood Ariene.

"How is D'Artagnan?" Porthos did not question the weapons his friends stowed away, instead crossing the room to their friend's bed. The door swung shut behind them and Ariene leant against it, sinking to the floor in exhaustion as she tried to listen to Aramis' hushed reply.

"He's been shot in the arm. He isn't out of the woods yet. He may have lost too much blood."

"God damn it!" Athos' voice was angry and, hidden out of the way of all three men, Ariene flinched at the sound. "What the hell happened?"

"They must have been followed." Porthos took a seat next to D'Artagnan's head, staring down at the boy. "This whole affair stinks."

"It's just become personal." Aramis agreed, taking bandages from the doctor and ushering him away, insisting that he could bind his friend's wounds himself. "This is going to leave an ugly scar. I should have been here to sew it up for him." He spoke in a voice that could have passed as cheerful to anyone who did not know him as well as the other two musketeers, but Porthos recognised the self-loathing and guilt in his friends eyes. He clapped a hand down on Aramis' shoulder, trying to grin.

"It's about time D'Artagnan got himself a decent scar to brag about." Porthos attempted a joke, gesturing at the scar that ran vertically down across his own eye. Athos made a noise half way between a groan and a sob as he buried his head in his hands.

"I should have seen that they were followed."

"There were at least two dozen men fighting the three of us" Aramis protested, finishing up tenderly bandaging D'Artagnan's arm and turning to Athos. "And you are injured. Let me see your arm."

"We weren't followed." Two pairs of eyes turned to Ariene and she raised hers to meet them. Aramis kept his attention on the deep gash in Athos' forearm, but Porthos and Athos could both see the lost look of pain in the girl's eyes. "It was a second ambush. They... They knocked the horse over, I was trapped and D'Artagnan was trying to help. I don't remember what happened but D'Artagnan was shot and I… I killed…" She took a rasping breath and Athos suddenly remembered the two dead highwaymen they had found alongside her coat and D'Artagnan's blood. He made to move forward, but Aramis pushed him back, intent on finishing sewing his flesh back together. Ariene gave herself a small shake and raised her head again, meeting Athos' eyes.

"How many?" He kept his voice steady.

"Three. One ran away. I couldn't let D'Artagnan bleed to death on the ground. I thought...I thought if we waited, you would find us but then I didn't know if you had survived. I stopped the bleeding the best I could and we walked here. Then…" she gestured around the room helplessly. "There was so much blood, Athos! So much blood." As the musketeer's watched, a little out of their depth, she began to cry in earnest, folding in on herself and burying her face in her hands. Athos pulled himself from Aramis, who hummed in annoyance as one of the stitches he had just finished ripped and a trickle of fresh blood rand down his fore arm. Swiftly reaching Ariene, Athos pulled her into his arms, tucking her head onto his chest and slipping one hand around her waist in a tender hug. He dropped his head, resting his nose and mouth on the top of her head and closed his eyes as she sobbed into his tunic. The other musketeers stared at the two, slightly uncomfortable and unaware that Athos even knew the concept of such an embrace.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Just a wee short chapter this time, like I said in the last chapter I am in the middle of my 10 days in a row shift at work and I'm struggling to find time to write, do my housework, spend time with my husband, and sleep. In this chapter, we are in Paris looking at things from the eye of Cardinal Richelieu. Hopefully this will put a bit of background into the story and things will start to make sense.

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"Why is it taking so long?" King Louis grumbled, pouting like a petulant child and glaring at both the men he had called into his presence. At his side, his wife placed a gentle hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. Light streamed through the large windows of the Louvre Palace, illuminating the faces of the royal couple and reinforcing the sulking shape of the King's mouth.

"Sire, I have assigned my most trusted men to escort your niece back to Paris. We know that the boat was delayed leaving England because of storms. Athos, Aramis and Porthos will not let any harm come to the Princess. I'm sure that they will be back in the next few days." The King narrowed his eyes at the captain of his musketeers.

"See that they do Treville. My brother is most perturbed that his daughter has not yet been returned to him. And Leopold is threatening to renegade on our peace if we do not hold up to our end of the bargain." In an uncharacteristic fit of anger, the King dismissed both men with a wave of his hand. "Both of you get out of my sight." The two men bowed, leaving the King's presence without so much as a glance at each other.

"Have you had any word from your musketeers?" Cardinal Richelieu turned to Captain Treville as soon as the doors swung shut behind them. The soldier shook his head.

"Nothing. But I am not too concerned. They were only due back in Paris last night. The weather has been particularly bad here, who knows what it has been like in the country. They could have been held up anywhere. They will return with the Princess soon."

"The King never reacts well to his brother being at court." The Cardinal grimaced. It was well known that the Cardinal and Gaston D'Orleans were often at odds in regards to their policies, the Kings younger brother seeking to undermine the authority that the cardinal held over the king. "As for this alliance with the Hapsburgs…" Cardinal Richelieu shook his head. "Well, at least your musketeers absence gives me longer to convince the King it should not be allowed." They had walked to the entrance to the Cardinal's chambers and it was there that the two men parted ways. Treville hurried back to the musketeer garrison while the Cardinal had entered his rooms. They both had work to do and the Kings summons had been an unwelcome interruption.

The cardinal's workroom was dark, the drapes pulled over the large windows. There was no fire in the hearth and the stone walls added to the cold dead feel of the room. In the center, wreathed in darkness, stood a cloaked figure.

"Milady." The Cardinal greeted the woman with a single word and she turned, a single beam of light from between the drapes lighting her pale face. Her dark eyes gleamed as she regarded the captain silently, slim eyebrows arched, her full red lips set in a line. "Is it done?" There was a further silence and then the tall woman's eyes flickered to the ground and back up and the Cardinal knew that she had failed in his task.

"The young one, D'Artagnan, has been gravely injured. Shot through the shoulder, I believe. The other musketeer's wait for him to recover consciousness before leaving for Paris. It may be days before they leave." The Cardinal glared at her answer, a glare that would make anyone except Milady de Winter shrivel in humiliation. The woman simply glared back at him, her eyes hard and her body language defensive.

"Your task was not to seriously injure a musketeer tag-a-long" The Cardinal could not hide his frustration. "It was to kill her! I do not want her to arrive in Paris ever. The consequences of that marriage will be disastrous for me. And what is disastrous for me is disastrous for you. I'm sure I do not need to remind you." She did not answer him; her eyes steady on his own as he glared at her. After a few minutes of silence, he gave a frustrated grunt and stormed over to the windows, flinging open the drapes to illuminate the room. Milady flinched slightly from the light as her eyes adjusted to the new light. "Well, obviously sending your hired hands to do the job was not good enough. I want you to go yourself and personally see to it that our Princess does not live to enter Paris. Do not fail me again." He threatened. The woman nodded once before turning away from the cardinal, her cloak rustling as she strode away.

As she left the room, he sank down into the chair behind his desk, his fingers finding his temples and pressing gently in an attempt to relieve the beginnings of the ache forming there. He could feel his influence on the King slipping with every minute the Duke d'Orleans spent in the palace, and he did not like it. The Duke's political allegiances frustrated the cardinal but the King's brother was a favorite even with the King himself and it was difficult to persuade Louis to ignore Gaston's mutterings. With Gaston's newest scheme, the cardinal knew he was almost out of options. If the Duke was allowed to marry his only daughter to the future Hapsburg King Ferdinand, then the Hapsburgs would become an important ally of France - something which Cardinal Richieleiu had spent most of his life trying to avoid. Most importantly, he would lose his position as first minister to the King.

And he would do anything at all to stop that from happening.

Louis had ordered his niece back from England, where she had been living for the past five years. The official reason given for her extended stay in the court of the English monarchs had been weak, an offer of friendship between the two royal families. The Cardinal knew little of the real reason but it had involved her first marriage and a scandal, causing her father to smuggle her out of France. Louis had insisted that she be escorted back to Paris by musketeers, and of course Captain Treville had responded by assigning his three best men to the task. Athos, Porthos and Aramis, and of course D'Artagnan as the young man was never far behind the three inseparable men, would do an admirable job of escorting the young woman home. Not for the first time, the Cardinal wished that Treville had sent less experienced musketeers along on the mission. Or at least musketeers who were not the best at sword fighting, fist fighting and shooting respectively.

It would be a shame to have to kill them too.

Sighing, he passed a hand over his eyes. His first plot to remove the threat of the Hapsburg marriage had not gone to plan. He had tried to use his contacts in England to stop the princess from sailing and keep her out of the way permanently. He had tried to employ a sailor on the ship to betray the captain and sink the vessel, but he had reckoned without the fierce loyalty of the captain's crew. He had ordered Milady to organise a highway robbery gone wrong: assuming that it would have resulted in the tragic death of one of France's princesses. Milady had seen to his wishes with an evil smile on her lips, one that had shocked even him, but the men she had chosen had not done their jobs properly. Now he would see if she could redeem herself. The death of a princess of the house of Bourbon would be regrettable, the Cardinal knew, but he could see no other way to ensure that his grip on the King, and his political influence, remained as strong as it had become in the past few years. With a Spanish Queen on the throne of France and a French princess as queen of the Hapsburgs, Europe would change beyond recognition. Cardinal Richelieu could see no place for France in that new Europe. He would do anything he could to stop it.

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A/N: We'll be back with the musketeers next time and D'Artagnan's fate will become clear, I promise. Don't be shy and silently read, let me know what you think! It does inspire me to write faster!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Apologies that I have taken so long to update this, I was trying to actually get a second chapter up for The Life I Chose, which was proving hard! And then my husband decided that he wanted to spend a day gardening so I was up to my elbows in wood stainer and soil... but here we are! I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, its quite short but we should get going again next time!

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The evening had passed in a blur. Leaving Aramis and Porthos to their steady vigil at D'Artagnan's bedside, Athos had channeled his guilt, frustration and helplessness into a sudden fierce protectiveness of their charge. He had organized a room, complete with a bath, a meal and a soft bed for the young woman. Despite her best intentions of returning to the room where the three musketeers were watching over D'Artagnan, she had fallen asleep over the meal the timid maid had brought her, and been tucked in to the soft bed when the girl had come to reclaim it.

She had not slept for long. Nightmares were nothing new to her but it had been a long time since she had woken up screaming. A glance out the window told her that it was nowhere near dawn, the moon still high in the sky. Wide-awake but exhausted, she knew that she would not get back to sleep for a while. She rose, puling the comforter from the bed and wrapping it around her as a guard against the freezing night air, her feet bare against the stone floor.

There was a soft knock on the door to the room. Aramis sleepily raised his head from the bed and looked around blearily, while Porthos slept straight through the noise, snoring gently on the pillow he had made from his cloak. Athos, awake and wide-eyed at D'Artagnan's bedside, answered the door after a few moments. Wordlessly, he stood back to allow Ariene to enter the room; the girl bundled in her blanket. Aramis blinked at her for a moment, before leaning his head back down on the bed and closing his eyes, returning to slumber.

"How is he?" Ariene whispered as Athos returned to his chair. The musketeer shook his head.

"No change." There was a short pause, in which Athos looked down at the pale D'Artagnan, twisting his hands together. "Are you well?" Ariene looked away as he raised his eyes back to her, and forced a small smile on her lips.

"Yes. May I stay?"

"You're lying." Athos gestured to the chair Porthos had abandoned for the floor, his voice low so not to wake the rooms sleeping occupants. Ariene looked away from him as she sat down, her gaze falling on D'Artagnan's pale face.

"Everybody lies." She responded after a while. "I will be fine." There was a silence for a while. "What is it Athos? Something is bothering you." The musketeer gestured silently to his young friend lying in the bed, with his pale face and bandaged arm, but Ariene shook her head. "No. Well, I mean, that is obviously… it's something else."

"It's not your concern." Athos said sharply, standing from his seat and walking to the window. The raised tone of his voice woke Aramis, who fell from the chair he was perched as he lifted his head for the second time. As he clattered to the ground, Porthos awoke, jumping to his feet and drawing his sword. Both men blinked sleepily around the room as they looked for the source of disturbance. Athos ignored them, staring out of the window.

"How's D'Artagnan?" Porthos glared at Aramis as he scrambled to his feet.

"No change." Athos muttered without turning around. Aramis touched his hand to the young boy's forehead.

"No fever. That's good. Has he woken?"

"Do you think I would have let you sleep if he had woken up?" Athos grumbled.

"Hmm." Aramis ignored the tone of his friend's voice. "How is your arm?"

"It's fine." Athos pulled his arm from Aramis' grasp as the musketeer tried to examine the cut he had stitched up earlier in the evening. "Aramis, leave it!"

"Will you keep it down?" The voice came from the bed, dry and croaky.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos left the window and crouched down at the side of the bed, Porthos sat up and Aramis grinned. The injured boy groaned as he struggled to sit up. Athos gently but firmly pressed him back against the pillows.

"Easy lad." He spoke quietly. "You're injured." D'Artagnan turned his eyes to Athos, managing a sarcastic glare, which caused Porthos to chuckle.

"Drink this." Aramis lifted a mug to the boy's lips, supporting his head as he encouraged him to drink. "It will help."

"W- what happened?" D'Artagnan rasped, his voice broken with pain after taking a few sips of the water.

"You were shot." Porthos, ever the eloquent speaker, informed him.

"I'm sorry." D'Artagnan turned his eyes to Athos, who tilted his head. "I f-failed."

"What are you talking about lad?" Athos leaned forward, his hand on the boys arm. "No one has failed at anything. Get some more sleep and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

"Ariene?"

"I am right here." She sat forward, speaking for the first time and reaching for D'Artagnan's hand. Squeezing it she smiled. D'Artagnan tried to say something, his eyes on her, but as he opened his mouth his eyes flickered closed and he collapsed against the pillow. Athos sat up in alarm, his gaze jumping to Aramis.

"D'Artagnan?" He failed to keep the note of panic from his voice but Aramis reached across the bed, placing a hand on his arm.

"It's normal for him to be exhausted Athos. He is just asleep. We must let him rest. You should rest too."

"I'm fine." Athos grunted for the second time, settling back down into the chair he had pulled up to D'Artagnan's bedside a few hours ago. He blamed himself for sending the boy into danger and would not sleep until he was assured that his young friend would survive.

The next few days passed in the same fashion. D'Artagnan spent a little longer each day awake and the musketeer's kept vigil at his bedside. Athos, Porthos and Aramis took turns in watching over their friend and discussing their situation in hushed voices. All three of them were in agreement that D'Artagnan was in no fit state to travel but none of the three were willing to leave their friend in his sick bed. Most of all, none of them could shake the feeling that they were not entirely safe in the tavern. They endlessly discussed and then revisited their ideas of the identities of their attackers but had reached no clear understanding of what had happened. They debated the idea of continuing their mission: to return Ariene to the royal family in Paris, but kept returning to the notion that D'Artagnan could not be left unprotected or alone. None of them wanted to be the one to abandon the young Gascon.

On the fifth day after D'Artagnan awoke, Aramis declared that the boy was well enough to get out of bed and stretch his legs. Fashioning a sling from a spare shirt, Athos helped the young man to sit up and then to stand, and shakily take his first few steps around the room under the watchful eye of Aramis. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Aramis declared,

"Another week and he will probably be able to ride. At a walk, mind you."

"A whole week?" D'Artagnan scowled at the man who nodded. "I'm ready to ride now Aramis!" Athos and Aramis both folded their arms and stared at the boy, who shakily drew himself up and glared back. D'Artagnan, while standing by himself, was suffering for his days in his sick bed. His arm was obviously hurting him, for he clutched at it even though it was supported in his sling, and his face was pale with the exertion of walking after so many days lying down.

"You're lucky that it's only a week!" Aramis retorted. "Your arm is healing relatively quickly but we do not want to make it worse. If you don't rest and let it recover properly, then it is unlikely that you will be able to fight with a sword again." D'Artagnan tried to argue, but a wave of tiredness passed over him and he sagged onto the bed. Athos stepped forward to catch his arm as he sank down, and helped to maneuver him back into bed.

"Get some rest, D'Artagnan." Athos smiled, his concern evident on his face.

'All I do is rest!" The boy murmured in an attempt at being indignant that was ruined by his eyes flickering closed as sleep beckoned him. Athos smiled, as D'Artagnan was lost in sleep, before turning back to Aramis.

"We can't stay here for another week."

"We have to if we are to stay with D'Artagnan." Aramis' voice was final as he checked over his patient. "Perhaps we should send a message to the Captain. Ask him to send more musketeers to escort Ariene back to Paris. Where is she anyway?"

"She went for a walk with Porthos." Athos glanced over at the window. "They should be back soon." He couldn't explain his reluctance to allow Ariene into the custody of any other musketeer to Aramis. "Perhaps that would be best."

There quiet conversation was suddenly interrupted by hurried footprints on the stone floor outside and the noise of the door being thrown open. They looked up in surprise, Athos rising to his feet as Ariene flew through the door. She was breathing hard, and a bruise was forming on her cheek and her jaw.

"Come quickly!" Her voice was panicked as she seized Aramis' arm, her gaze flying to Athos. "It's Porthos."

* * *

A/N: I just wanted to clear some things up in regards to the history and timeline I am using for this story - Basically I had the idea for it and then went searching for the history to lend some credibility to it. I've messed around with ages and family members to suit my own ideas, i.e. the Duke of Orleans and Louis are both a lot older in my story than they would have been at this point in time. I toyed with the idea of changing Ariene's role in the French royal family before posting chapter six, but I decided to keep it the same. I should perhaps have put a AN up at the end of the last chapter explaining that and begging my lovely readers to take it with a pinch of salt and a smile, and I apologise for any confusion!


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Where has the past week and a half gone? I cannot believe how long it has taken me to get this up! I can only apologise. I've been building a new tank at work and it kind of flows into evening life as well! This has been sitting ready for editing for a few days, I just haven't had the time to do it! I had meticulous plans to put it up yesterday, but then I went to get my laptop from my room and instead I went to bed. At 20:30. Talk about a sign that your working too hard! Anyway, apologies, apologies, but here it is. And I will get the next chapter up in the next few days. Love to all of you!

* * *

It had taken Aramis only a few seconds to grab his bag, exchange a worried look with Athos and respond to Ariene's panicked tug on his arm. As his friend fled the room, Athos sank down into the chair at D'Artagnan's bedside, his eyes on the unconscious boy and his mind full of worry, images of Porthos lying dead in the snow flashing in his mind. He heard the front door of the inn bang shut and stood hurriedly, making it to the small window just in time to see Ariene and Aramis disappear down the street of the village.

"What happened?" Aramis demanded as the two of them raced through the streets. In the five days since they had arrived the weather had turned from bad to worse, snow had fallen and the pavements were icy. The musketeer skidded slightly as Ariene urged him on.

"We were attacked again." The girl spoke brokenly as she gasped for air, her hand clutching her side. "Two men but…Porthos… they hit him."

"Hit him?"

"With a branch. I couldn't wake him and I couldn't carry him. So I had to leave him. Its not far but hurry! Aramis!" The musketeer had drawn his pistol at her words, suddenly wary of the same thing happening to them now. He glanced at Ariene as she led the way, his eyes narrowing as he considered the events of the past week.

"Just incase." He reassured her as they left the small village, heading towards the surrounding forest. "What possessed you to come out here?" Ariene didn't answer, drawing closer to Aramis as they left the relative safety of the houses. The musketeer placed a hand on her arm as they approached the place she had left Porthos.

There were the bodies of the two men who had attacked them, lying prone in the blood stained snow, but there was no sign of their tall friend. Ariene gave a frightened gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she took in the scene.

"He was right here, unconscious." She gestured and as Aramis peered in the direction she indicated he could see the indentation in the snow where the man had been. "They hit him in the back of the head, we didn't see them coming. He just went down, and I, I couldn't wake him. I didn't know what to do. I shouldn't have left him."

"There are footprints leading away from here." Aramis ignored her, intent on finding out the fate of his friend. "Large ones, possibly Porthos. Whoever it is, they do not look particularly steady on their feet."

"He was hit rather hard." Ariene said quietly as she followed Aramis, avoiding looking at either of the two bodies.

"His skull is pretty thick." Aramis sounded grim. "Even Athos struggles to knock him out sometimes. If he has woken up disorientated, he may have wandered off in the wrong direction. I never thought I'd say this, but thank god for snow. We should be able to find him."

"What if he didn't wander off?" Ariene gasped. "What if there were more than two of them?" Aramis entertained the idea for a mere moment, then dismissed it as he examined the imprints in the snow.

"Only one set of foot prints leading away from here. Porthos is a nightmare to carry when he is unconscious. There would be drag marks, or two sets of footprints. Do not fear, I do not think that is what has happened here. Although…" he trailed off, examining a tree trunk that had a hole blasted through it, the result of close range gun fire.

"That was my fault." Ariene admitted a little sheepishly. "I've never used a gun before. I tried to use Porthos pistol first." She bit her lip, glancing down at the two bodies in the snow. "I always preferred to use a sword."

"I think you made the right choice." Aramis sounded distracted. "Come on; let us follow these footprints. Stay close behind me."

Aramis, holding his pistol out in front of him and leading Ariene, crept slowly through the snow as they both kept their eyes open for their friend. The footprints in the snow did not follow a straight line but weaved in and out of the trees and indicated a great deal of staggering, slipping and sliding. Aramis and Ariene did not speak as they followed the trail, each hoping that they would not have to follow it far.

"There!" They had not been walking more than a few minutes before Aramis shouted out as he saw a body lying in the snow. "Porthos!" He ran forward, his feet kicking up snow in his rush to get to his friend. "Porthos!" Aramis reached the injured musketeer and was relieved to see that Porthos was awake. Blood covered one side of his face and the eyes that stared back at Aramis were unfocused, but Porthos mumbled responses to Aramis' concerned questions and attempted to wave away to his friend's concern. Aramis, ignoring Porthos' protests, busied himself checking his friends skull. Ariene hung back, watching the soldier work, hugging herself with her arms as she nervously waited for Aramis to declare Porthos' fate.

'That's going to need stitches." Aramis muttered under his breath and Porthos tried to shake his head in protest. The unexpected movement caused him to pass out and he fell backwards against Aramis, who, despite himself, rolled his eyes.

"Porthos, you are such a baby." He muttered to himself as he struggled to lift Porthos into a sitting position. "It's just a couple of stitches. We better get him back to the inn." He raised his voice to Ariene and she hurried forward. "Can you try to help me carry him or should you go back and get Athos?"

"I can help." Ariene sounded almost stubborn as she wrung her hands together. Between them, they managed to lift Porthos and slowly, they made the journey back to their rooms in the tavern.

They were both freezing by the time they arrived at D'Artagnan's room. Athos had anticipated the need for heat, and had built their small fireplace up into a roaring fire. The room was hot and Athos hurried over to help as Ariene and Aramis half carried and half dragged Porthos into the room. The two men gently placed the unconscious musketeer into a chair while Ariene sank exhaustedly to the floor close to the fire.

"It's just a shallow wound." Aramis told Athos as he began to organise his equipment to allow him to stitch the wound. "But head wounds bleed a lot. Will you hold that light closer? Thanks." Athos did as he was asked, peering at the blood soaked hair covering Porthos' head. "It's concussion that we will have to watch out for."

"How long until he wakes?" Athos asked quietly. Aramis looked up, his eyes serious, and shrugged.

"A minute, an hour? A day? He was awake when we found him, but only for a moment. He passed out again when I mentioned stitches." The serious expression on Aramis' face disappeared for a moment as a grin of amusement passed over his lips. "There, done." He stood up and moved away to clean his instruments and to stretch.

"Should we move him? Does he need to be lying down?" Athos questioned him, glancing at the chair and the occupied bed.

"Mm fine." Porthos muttered. "Stop talking 'bout me as if I weren't here."

'How are you feeling?" Aramis ignored his muttered complaint and strode across the room. Porthos brushed him away.

"Told you, I'm fine."

"Open your eyes." Aramis commaned.

"I'd prefer not too." Porthos' voice was quiet. "And I'd prefer it if you didn't shout."

"I'm not shouting. What's your name?"

"Athos."

"What's my name?"

"Porthos."

"Where are we?"

"Spain"

"What's – "

"Aramis, I told you. I'm alright." Porthos' reached out a hand to touch his worried friend's arm, a smile on his lips. "All I need is peace and quiet."

"But – "

"Quiet, Aramis." Porthos reiterated the second part of his request and Aramis sighed.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me." He spoke to Athos but his eyes never left Porthos. "Do not let Porthos sleep." He turned and stalked from the room, glancing back at the bed D'Artagnan slept in as he did so, his eyes taking in the huddled shape of Ariene by the fire as he strode from the room. Athos watched him go, concern evident in his eyes.

"Why is it every time you complain about how tedious our assignments are, things tend to go bad." Athos sighed as he joined Aramis at a table. The musketeer was staring at a plate of untouched food, his brow furrowed.

"Mmm." He made a non committal noise in response to Athos, causing his friend to jostle his shoulder before reaching over to steal food from his plate.

"What is it? You have been quiet since you brought Porthos home."

"Porthos." The name of his friend seemed to jolt Aramis out of his stupor. "How is he."

"Still awake." Athos sat back in his chair. "He seems lucid enough. Once again, Porthos' thick skull saves him." He grinned.

"Did you leave him alone?" Aramis did not smile back and Athos shook his head, reaching for the mug of ale that Aramis had ordered but left full.

"Ariene is with him. D'Artagnan is – Aramis?" Aramis had stood from his chair so fast the object had fallen to the floor behind him. He was out of the room and running up the stairs before Athos could react. 'Aramis?" Athos called after him, jumping to his own feet.

"Get away from him." Aramis crashed through the door to D'Artagnan's room and leveled his pistol at Ariene, the young woman dropping the cloth she had been using to tenderly clean the wound on the back of Porthos' head. The taller musketeer groaned slightly at the noise of Aramis' raised voice.

"Aramis?" Ariene stood slowly, her hands held out in front of her, her eyes widening as she stared at the gun in his hand. Aramis took too steps towards her, his eyes hard with suspicion.

"Both times friends of mine have nearly been killed, they have been with you." He spoke tightly, his teeth gritted.

"Aramis! We were attacked. There was nothing – I – Aramis." He could hear the fear in her voice as she stepped away from him, pressing her back against the wall, her hand gripping the window ledge.

"Aramis!" The door to the room crashed open for the second time, revealing Athos who took one second to look between the angry musketeer and his scared opponent. "What are you doing?" Athos took several steps into the room, seizing his friend's hand and forcing him to lower the gun. Aramis shook him off and raised it again.

"It's a little suspicious, do you not think Athos. Our new friend here has survived both attacks with barely a scratch when our friends were both fighting for their lives?"

"That's no reason to threaten her, Aramis!" Athos sounded shocked as he stepped backwards to shield Ariene. "Both of us quite regularly come out of scrapes with fewer wounds than our comrades."

"It doesn't make sense!" Aramis insisted. "D'Artagnan fell first, she says, and she killed their two attackers. Porthos was knocked unconscious and she had to, again, kill their two attackers. How did she kill them? Luck? I don't think so. There is something going on. What is it? Who sent you here to kill us?"

"No one!" Ariene clutched at Athos' arm as Aramis accused her of murderous intentions. Athos sighed.

"Put your pistol away Aramis. Why would she be trying to kill us, she is a member of the royal family!"

"So she says!" Aramis narrowed his eyes and Athos shook his head in exasperation.

"She is. And she is not trying to kill us."

"How are you so sure Athos?" Aramis glared at his friend. "With us out of the way -"

"We are not so indispensable, Aramis." Athos raised his voice for the first time and Porthos groaned a little again. "Who would have reason to send someone to kill us? Surely it is more likely that someone is trying to kill Ariene?"

"How is it you were able to kill your attackers? How is it a royal princess is able to wield a sword well enough to beat trained soldiers?" Aramis ignored Athos, glaring over his friends shoulder at Ariene.

"I am not trying to kill you Aramis. I have no reason to want musketeers dead. I have no reason to want anyone dead!" Ariene stepped out from behind the protection of Athos. Aramis' arm dropped slightly as he looked from Athos to Ariene, then down to D'Artagnan who was still sleeping on the bed, and Porthos, who squinted up at them from his chair.

'Who did teach you to fight?" The injured musketeer interrupted the tense conversation, missing the gravity of the situation. Ariene and Aramis' attention was diverted from each other to Porthos, Aramis' gun falling to his side. Ariene half smiled, glancing at Athos, who still stood half in front of her protectively. "I saw some fighting. You were good." Porthos winced as he moved his head.

"A friend, Porthos. It was a long time ago now. I did not have much chance to practice while I was in England. In truth, I did not ever expect to have to use the skill. And," she looked over at Aramis. "I never want to have too again." She shuddered a little, an expression of horror crossing her face as she was forced to remember the men she had killed. As he watched the shock on her face, Aramis' expression changed from suspicious to concerned. He looked down at the gun in his hand, glanced up at Ariene and Athos, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, closed it again and then placed his pistol back in its holster.

In two strides he was across the room, and down on one knee, reaching out to Ariene.

"My lady, I beg your forgiveness."

"There is nothing to forgive Aramis." Ariene took his offered hands, biting her lip as she struggled to understand the change in his demeanor to her. "You are worried about your friend that is all. I understand. Please, stand up." Aramis stood, glancing at Athos as he did so. The dark expression on his friends face told him that Athos was not as willing to forgive as the King's niece, and Aramis knew that once safely back in Paris, the other musketeer would call him out on his choices.

"We cannot ignore this second attack on us." Athos was speaking as Aramis took a seat next to Porthos. "Porthos, do you remember anything at all?" The man began to shake his head, then thought better of it.

"I remember leaving the tavern and walking through the snow for a while. Then all I remember is being on the floor in the snow. There was a gunshot and I think Ariene screamed. She took my sword." His hand subconsciously found the weapon they had retrieved from the scene of the ambush. "I saw her fighting a man, killing him." The woman in question shifted slightly, her hand clenched in a ball on her lap as Porthos tried to remember what had happened. The musketeer shrugged helplessly. "Then the next thing I remember is Aramis waving a needle and thread in my face." Porthos stared pointedly at Aramis who smiled sheepishly at him. "I couldn't tell you anything more than that, I'm sorry Athos." Athos shook his head, placing a hand on his friend shoulder and turned to Ariene.

"Can you add anything to that?"

"There were two of them. They hit Porthos with a tree branch and he went down immediately. They must have hit him pretty hard."

"If they wanted him dead, and they were close enough to hit him with a tree, they could have killed him." Athos mused. "Perhaps this indicates you were the intended target." Ariene met his eyes, her gaze worried.

"They fought with the same style as the men from a few days ago. But that tells us nothing really."

"It might." Aramis sounded thoughtful. "Please, continue." Ariene shook her head.

"I took Porthos' gun first, it was the only thing I could reach. But, well, I'm not a good shot and you saw my attempt at firing at the men." Despite himself Aramis grinned.

"Almost felled a tree." He smirked at Athos, who glowered back.

"It took a few minutes to free Porthos' sword. They didn't have pistols, or I am sure I would not have survived. I managed in the end. Then when I could not wake Porthos, I came running back to get you. The rest you know."

"I had a look over the bodies while we were looking for Porthos." Aramis added. "There was nothing out of the ordinary, no identifying marks and the men were not carrying anything. Rather unhelpful, really."

"Ariene, is there any reason you can think of that would make you the intended target of these attacks?" Athos turned back to her, his face grim. The young woman frowned.

"I have not been part of the politics here for five years. I am unaware if there would be opposition to my return to the French court. I doubt that there would be, I am but a minor Princess. I hold no sway over – " she paused, licking her dry lips slightly as her frown increased.

"What?" Athos reached out to touch her arm. "Why is it that you have returned? Why now, after all these years?" Ariene lifted her eyes to meet his, her face a reflection of his mood.

"I am to be married."


End file.
